


Rain

by Nomelah



Category: Red vs. Blue
Genre: Alcohol Abuse, Angst, Eventual Smut, F/M, Hurt/Comfort, Slow Burn, i don't know??, maybe is has a happy ending???, yet another angst fic
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-08-20
Updated: 2016-08-20
Packaged: 2018-08-09 23:13:11
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,766
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7820980
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nomelah/pseuds/Nomelah
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>She felt responsible for the deaths of her teammates, yet he still came. It was only you two now, nobody else.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Rain

**Author's Note:**

> I love Lavernius Tucker too much. That is all.

A gray hue had been hovering over the city for three days now, slowly growing darker and darker. It would rain any day now.

The loft was silent, high enough that the bustling city sounds below were inaudible. It was sparsely furnished, and yet it maintained a sense of wealth and class to it, the dark furniture contrasting starkly with the light walls and floors. Huge floor length windows allowed more light to flood into the large kitchen and living room. However, the gray was only carried inside, giving the expensive apartment a cold and unwelcoming atmosphere.

Your eyes drifted aimlessly over the cityscape, a neutral expression on your face. You shivered, but didn't make a move to grab the yellow blanket next to you. It had been your fault. Your eyes shut for a moment as you focused on trying to breathe normally and ignore the lump in your throat. You shivered, goosebumps rising all over your body. You had been having cold sweats, but the black leather couch was warm where you had been sitting.

It had just started to drizzle when a knock at the door was heard. A visitor. Your eyes remained glued to the city far below. The front door opened. You'd left it unlocked. You knew he would come to you eventually. The door shut quietly behind him, and his soft footsteps were heard on the pale wood floors. He stopped behind the couch you were sitting on, just outside of your peripheral vision.

He said nothing, he must have been taking in the apartment. You didn't blame him. It was all your fault. The rain started to fall, large drops of water hitting the wall of windows in your loft. It was silent. He moved, walking around the end of the couch to sit in a matching black leather chair. You could see him now, in the corner of your eye. But you didn't look at him. You wouldn't look at him. His blue civvies contrasted against the dark leather of the seat he had settled in. He didn't say anything, only watching you. Taking you in. Your eyes never left the window. The rain fell harder.

"Are you angry?" You finally whispered, your eyes glued to the city. Tucker didn't reply, and your head whipped around to look at him. His face remained neutral. You found your voice again. "Are you angry?" Your voice raised a pitch. "Are you fucking angry with me?! Are you pissed at me?!" Your words came out in a breathy laugh, but you weren't amused. Tucker's face didn't change, his eyes locked onto yours. The rain pelted down against the windows in a fury.

"Your hands are cut." His silver eyes flicked down and up again to your eyes. You clenched your hands, ignoring the flashes of pain that came with doing so. You didn't give a fuck about your hands right now.

"You didn't answer my fucking question. Are you angry with me?" Your tone was cold. Tucker's eyes closed for a moment, allowing himself a couple deep breaths before answering.

"No." Confusion washed over you. Your head whipped back to the window. Lightning flashed far away. Thunder boomed in the distance.

"Why?"

"It wasn't your fault." The thunder grew louder.

"What do you mean? How the hell wasn't it?! It's my fault! I did it!" You stood up, your cold feet hitting the colder floor with a slap as you jumped to your feet. The rain fell down in buckets, obscuring the view from the window.

"No. It wasn't your fault."

"Stop trying to humanize me! I'm a fucking monster!" You screeched, jamming your finger into your chest. Tucker flinched, standing slowly as to keep you from scaring. The room was dark, all the light drowned out by the storm outside.

He took a couple of slow steps towards you as you continued to scream. Before you could react, he had squeezed you tight into an embrace. You writhed in his grasp, your fists pummeling his back, but you were weak and sleep deprived. His grip was like iron. You slumped in his arms, giving up and allowing the tears that had been building up to release. Lightning flashed outside and thunder followed closely, shaking the loft.

Sobs wracked your body as he held you close. He sat right there, on the hardwood floor, with you in his arms as you released all the guilt and sorrow you had bottled up. You eventually stopped sobbing, but the tears continued to flow freely down your face. Tucker's fingertips traced up and down your vertebrae as you tried to get your breathing back under control. The light that managed to filter through the pouring rain cast the shadows of a million rivulets onto the floor.

"God Tucker, they're all dead." You whispered, your breath catching. You shook in his grasp, your eyes widening again. You felt his breath hitch and suddenly felt nauseous. "I need to throw up." Tucker stood, picking you up with him and carrying you to the bathroom. You made it to the toilet just in time, throwing up bile. Tucker held your hair back. You tried to ignore the awful bitter smell as you wretched again, not managing to throw anything up. Your cut hands clenched the sides of the cold porcelain toilet bowl with a death grip.

"When was the last time you ate?" You didn't respond, purposefully avoiding his silver eyes. He understood. He grabbed a hair band from the marble countertop in the bathroom and pulled your hair up into a messy ponytail. Tucker stood, leaving you alone in the bathroom.

After you decided there was nothing left in your stomach to throw up, you washed your face and went to the living room, following his sounds. He was on his hands and knees, picking up the pieces of shattered glass from the dishes you had thrown the night you returned home from the memorial. The rain continued to pour.

You knelt down to help him, working in silence with the man. Clinking glass shards were the only sound heard. Once you had picked up all the biggest pieces, he swept up what remained. You sat at the island as he started to work at the stove. The rain never stopped it's downpour as the thunder and lightning continued outside.

"Where's your first aid kit?" His voice was quiet. Your reply was hoarse and barely audible.

"Under the sink." He nodded, several dreads falling free from his ponytail.

"Take a shower, I'll have food ready and I'll patch your hands up afterwards." You nodded, hopping down from the barstool and walking back into the bathroom.

The scalding water fogged the mirror and shower doors in the bathroom. Your officer's uniform lie crumpled in the corner. You hadn't changed out of it since the memorial. Sweat accumulated on your skin as the bathroom heated up. You stepped into the shower, your skin burning under the hot water. You stood still for a few seconds to allow yourself to adjust to the heat and then quickly washed your body. Your hair slowly detangled under the jets of scalding water. You twisted the knob to turn off the shower. Alone in the silence once again. After stepping out of the shower, you wrapped yourself in a towel and left the bathroom.

Your wet feet slapped a trail of water going to your room. Upon entering the spacious quarters, you dropped the towel on the floor and grabbed a too big white tee shirt and underwear. You sat down on the bed, your gaze pulled to the torrential rain streaming down the wall of windows. The smell of whatever Tucker was cooking pulled you from your thoughts, and you stood, realizing he'd be waiting for you in the kitchen.

He stood facing the stove, his back to you as you entered quietly. The first aid kit had already been taken out onto the counter. He turned suddenly after moving the pot onto a back burner. Tucker looked you up and down, and you looked away in shame. He motioned for you to sit on the counter, and went to wash his hands as you hopped up.

His dark hands gently held your injured ones, turning them over as he examined them. He didn't say anything, and you were relieved. He set one hand down as grabbed the hydrogen peroxide. His silver eyes glanced up to yours before pouring it onto your hand. You nodded, telling him to go on. Tucker kept eye contact as he poured the antiseptic over your cuts. You winced, biting your lip as he did so.

"Why are you here?" You whispered, clenching your eyes shut in an effort to attempt to keep from crying. It was no use, hot tears slipped down your face in burning rivulets. Tucker didn't answer for a second, he wrapped your first hand in gauze and moved to the other.

"You're the only one left to go to." He replied, his voice a hushed whisper. Hydrogen peroxide bubbled on your injured hand. A towel was pressed into the cuts, making you wince. Tucker mumbled an apology.

"I wish I wasn't. I wish I was dead like the rest of them." Your voice hitched in a sob.

"Shut up." Tucker started to wrap your hand.

"Why did I live? I wish it was me! I wish I could have taken their place." You rambled on, your heart pounding. His wrapping became tight and quick. You gasped, your eyes flying open. Tucker's face was mere inches away from yours, and his silver eyes bore into yours with a quiet fury.

"Shut up. Shut the fuck up. You're not allowed to talk like that, you hear me? If you were dead, I'd have no one left! So shut the fuck up!" He finished wrapping the gauze, but he didn't move, his eyes locked onto yours. You couldn't breathe. His hot breaths tickled your face and the hairs on the back of your neck rose. His hands were on either side of your hips, placed firmly on the granite countertop, barely brushing your sides. His torso was in between your open legs, almost touching your thighs. Your eyes were wide. Tucker's face came closer for a moment, his eyes shutting, and his breath on your lips. You hesitated, and he turned away, coughing awkwardly as he grabbed two bowls and spooned soup into them. A wave of conflicting emotions washed over you. What the hell just happened?

You hopped down from the island, crossing to the other side to get a seat. Tucker handed you a bowl and sat next to you. Your mouth watered as the soup's aroma suddenly hit you. You hadn't eaten food for a couple days. Hunger overwhelmed you, and you desperately tried to keep yourself from shoveling bite after bite into your mouth. Tucker failed to hide a smirk, and your face flushed red. Before you knew it, the bowl was empty. You stood to get more, but Tucker grabbed your arm to stop you. You shot him a glare, about to wrench your arm away.

"You haven't eaten in a long time. If you eat too much now, you're going to throw up." You paused before sitting down again. He let go of your arm.

The rain continued, but the thunder and lightning were over. After your meal, you'd sat in the living room in silence. Tucker had bags under his eyes. You did too. Neither of you had been sleeping apparently. He was the first to break the silence.

"You know, I keep wondering, will it be better or worse when we're deployed again?" You looked to him, your eyebrows drawing together. "They won't assign us to different squads, will they? I guess I'm working for the UNSC now, it's going to be weird. We always just did our own thing. But now-" He didn't finish his sentence.

"Tucker, I was discharged after the memorial." Your voice stayed steady, your expressions neutral. But you had to look away. He was quiet, and that scared you more than any outburst.

"What do you mean, why?" You didn't answer. "(Name), look at me, why were you discharged? You were a high ranked officer for them, a nearly perfect record.." His voice filled with dread.

"Mental health issues." Your voice hitched. Tucker muttered a swear under his breath, and you looked up through glassy eyes to find him throw his hands up to hold the sides of his head. He was distraught. That made the two of you. Rain pelted the glass, and lightning illuminated the dark clouds above for a split second.

"What's wrong?"

"PTSD, night terrors." Your eyes met, and for a long moment, the eye contact was held. He was the first to look away, clenching his eyes shut.

"How didn't I know?"

"We were both mourning. I didn't want to tell you, because telling you is like accepting that it's real, and I don't know what to do with myself. I've got no purpose anymore, I'm useless. I've never had a life outside of the UNSC." Your eyes stung. You needed sleep.

Tucker stood, dropping his hands from his face and clenching and unclenching his fists. He radiated fury. For a moment, you thought he'd scream.

"God, they've taken everything. Everything from me. My friends. My life, you. They just keep on taking. And taking, and taking..." You expected him to yell, or shout, but instead he had a sad, quiet acceptance in his voice. His eyes met yours again, and he sighed. "You need sleep."

"You're one to talk." Your snarky comeback brought a flash of a smile to his face.

"You got a spare bed?" You shook your head. "Alright, whatever. I'm taking the couch then." He paused, and a familiar suggestive grin flashed onto his face for a split second. "Unless you wanna share a bed, bow chicka bow wow." You smiled, and in that moment you were almost able to remember how it used to be. Thunder cracked overhead.

Tucker's face fell, and you turned to leave.

"Blankets are in the left closet in the bathroom." Your voice called out from the hall. He didn't respond, but he heard you.

Your bed was comfy, it'd been so long since you last used it, you'd forgotten how nice it was. But you were restless, too tired to sleep. You tossed and turned to no avail. The rain still pelted the windows, the storm a comforting noise. But it wasn't enough, you couldn't sleep. Maybe it was your guilt. Your depression. Your aching emptiness. Loneliness. You didn't know. Your eyes rested on the window, staring as the rain streaked down. With a sigh, you sat up, your legs swinging over the side of the bed. Your hunched over form was tangled in blankets. Your eyes flitted to the clock. 02:00 AM. There was a knock at the door. Apparently Tucker couldn't sleep either.

"Come in." Your voice was quiet and hoarse. The door clicked open, and your head turned. Tucker entered and shut the door behind him.

"Couldn't sleep." He whispered. You nodded your head. He sat down next to you on the bed. "God this is all so messed up. It was never supposed to be this way, and now, all of our friends..." His voice choked up, and his sentence wasn't completed. It was left hanging in the air, like an incomplete melody. You knew how it ended.

You broke down as you pulled him into an embrace, wrapping your arms firmly around his hard abdomen. Your hands held to his blue shirt as though it was the last tether you had to this world. In a way it was. His arms eventually wrapped around your waist, his hands holding your head and tangling in your hair.

His heart was racing, and so was yours. Your sobs matched his. His body shook with yours.

"God Tucker, what did I do?" You managed to get out between breathless sobs. You felt dizzy. He tensed in your grasp. You blamed yourself for what had happened. You wouldn't blame him if he blamed you too. Instead of a reply, Tucker pulled away from your death grip. He didn't make eye contact as your arms fell limply to your sides.

"Get some sleep."

You fought back a mournful cry as he stood, wiping your face in your hands. As soon as the door shut behind him, you buried your scream in a pillow.

Alone again.


End file.
